


Blood of the Hare

by siqwithaQ



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Slow Burn, They're Werewolves, mostly follows canon except, warnings for animal deaths bc they have to hunt to eat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siqwithaQ/pseuds/siqwithaQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where vampirism is a parallel to figure skating, and lycanthropy to hockey, and Bitty is the unlucky soul who gets to be both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood of the Hare

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna wait until I had more of a buffer to start posting chapters of this, but Friday is my birthday, so I was like... hmm... you know what I would enjoy getting on my birthday? Attention. (Posting stuff a day or two before my birthday is starting to become a tradition for me, too, so...)

For anyone else, going outside during the full moon, especially in midsummer, would have been a phenomenally stupid idea. Eric Bittle, thankfully, was not anyone else. And he really needed to go out that night, so he left his house at sundown with a couple of jam jars in his bag and not one thought in his head about werewolves. 

He was running low on his MooMaw’s famous blood orange jam, which, frankly, was a crime and needed to be rectified immediately. But that called for a supply run — the secret to MooMaw’s recipe, after all, was using fresh ingredients and getting the ratio of blood to oranges _just_ right. 

The species-protection policies were a mite stricter in Samwell than they had been in Georgia, so a nice fine owl blood, like the Bittles typically used for jam, was pretty much off the table, but Eric would be nobody if he didn’t know how to make do. If nothing else, there were always raccoons.

But, as it happened, that night he stumbled upon a wolf instead. 

“Oh, you wouldn’t,” Eric chided as the wolf bared its teeth at him. It growled in response, but he just sighed and walked right on by. The woods loomed ahead, the moon high in the sky, and Eric didn’t have the time to dither about if he wanted to have this blood collected by sunup. Maybe he would find a rabbit, if he were lucky. The blood of a hare was always a treat. 

It took him ten minutes of roaming the woods to realize he was being followed.

Eric glanced over his shoulder. Yup, there it was. The wolf. Lurking. It wasn’t bothering to hide itself as it watched him. But why? He wasn’t doing anything notable, not to mention the whole vampire thing. If anything, shouldn’t it have been avoiding him? But—

Oh, of course. Werewolves were territorial. That was one of the first things he had learned about the species, besides the fact that he had no need to fear them. Its den must have been nearby. Eric decided not to go too much further. It wouldn’t bite him, sure, but it also wouldn’t hesitate to defend its home if he became a threat to it.

Eventually, he came across a rabbit burrow. Rolling up his sleeves, he lowered himself to his knees in front of it. 

Unheeded, the wolf crept closer.

It didn’t take much at all, really, to catch a rabbit bare-handed. Sure, they were small and quick, but so was he. His hand darted into the burrow, barely a few seconds before he pulled it back out again, a small, struggling creature hanging from his fist.

Humming, Eric turned, just slightly, and came face to face with the wolf, now practically beside him. Watching, still, intense. He wondered what it wanted, until he caught the wolf’s eyes following his hands as he snapped the rabbit’s neck. 

“What, you want this?” he asked distractedly, reaching into his bag to pull out one of the glass jars he brought. “Well, y’all’re just going to have to catch your own...” 

The jar shattered as it fell against stone, sending glass shards with blood splatters onto the ground. The rabbit landed next to it, untouched.

.

He woke, late afternoon, in his own bed. Two jam jars sat on his bedside table, emanating the savoury scent of rabbit’s blood. _A dream_ , he thought, then turned over and went back to sleep.

.

The moon waned, and Eric made jam. The moon waxed, and he forgot all about his dream with the wolf.

Until he woke with the sun on the day of the full moon, his bones burning and the simple thought in his head that he needed to _leave_.

.

Eric didn’t know where he was going. He _especially_ didn’t know where he was going during _daylight_ hours, or why he couldn’t bring himself to stop. His mind was foggy, and his skin cracked under the sun, but he kept moving.

At least when he came to the woods, the trees offered some modicum of shade. He passed the rabbit burrow but didn’t slow. There was no life there anymore, anyway.

He was much deeper into the woods than he had ever been before — much deeper than he had dared to go that night, a month ago.

_Danger_ , one half of him warned. _This is wolf territory. Turn around._

_Safety_ , the other, newer half chimed in. _Safety this way. Keep going._

So he kept going.

It felt like hours later when he stumbled upon the well: ancient-looking and made of stone, with the letters S A M engraved upon it. It marked the opening of a clearing, one occupied by — what looked like a campsite.

“Hey, we got another one,” came a voice from further on. 

“Swawesome, bro, whose is he?”

“Uh, guys, he doesn’t look too good.”

There was a group of people — of werewolves? — approaching him. He couldn’t make much out, except that they were _big_ , and two of them had moustaches. Or were there three with moustaches? Were there even that many people at all? He tried to count them, but before he got to two he hit the ground. The sun reached him again, having fallen out of the relative safety of the trees, but he barely even heard the ominous hissing that rose from his own body.

“Motherfucker!”

“Oh, shit, is that — is that normal, for pups?”

“Melting? No, Rans, I don’t think it is.”

“Shit ass _Christ_ , you guys, we— Get his feet!”

Eric felt himself being lifted into the air — heard somebody mutter “Huh, he’s pretty light,” and someone else go “Shut up, brah, dude’s _melting_ ” — and then — nothing.

.

When he came to, he was lying in a cot in one of the tents. There were five guys in there with him, but only of them facing him. That one met his eyes gave him a slight nod and a wide smile. Three of the others were embroiled in conversation, while the fifth watched on, silently.

Eric clenched the thin blanket over him tightly, but otherwise didn’t move. These men were wolves, no doubt about it. The tent smelled strongly of sweat and dog and — and marijuana, faintly. The fact that Eric’s nose could pick up on that was not a good sign. 

But even if — even if his suspicion turned out to be true, he was a vampire and they were wolves. They didn’t mix well. They weren’t supposed to mix _at all_. Why wouldn’t they have killed him? Why wouldn’t they have left him to die? He needed to know — he needed to stay silent and listen. They would lie to him if they knew he was awake.

“Jesus, though, that was scary,” said one of them. He was sitting on the floor, his back to Eric, so all he could tell was that he was large, dark-skinned, and half-entangled with an even larger blond guy sitting next to him. “Do you think he’s gonna be okay?”

“I’m pretty sure, brah,” the one facing him said, breaking eye contact with Eric. “I mean, if he kicked it this early, what kind of story would this even be? We’d have no point of view guy. That would just be weird.”

“ _You’re_ weird,” said the dark-skinned one. The others laughed, apart from the silent fifth guy, who only smiled wanly.

They — were worried about him. Okay. Now _that_ was weird. But — well, werewolves and vampires weren’t _hostile_ with each other, per se. They were just meant to stay separate.

Eric had never actually met werewolves before — not in human form. Maybe these guys were just... being nice. Helping him. Maybe — hopefully — he hadn’t been bitten at all, and that was all just a fever dream. Yeah. That was it. This was just a pack of very charitable young werewolves. How quaint.

“I sure hope he’s fine,” said the fourth guy, a long-haired brunet whose face was turned toward Eric just enough for his bristly moustache to be visible. “I mean, guy shows up on our metaphorical doorstep just to croak the same day? That’d be some motherfucking bullshit right there!”

“Who in the hell tried to turn a vamp anyway?” asked the blond one.

The group fell silent. 

There it was. The confirmation. Eric was — was — this wasn’t supposed to happen. This was what he had always been told would _never_ happen. Werewolves weren’t supposed to bite vampires. Vampires weren’t supposed to bite werewolves. It hadn’t happened for centuries. It was — they were — they were all meant to _know better_.

The fifth guy shifted, looking between the others, until—

“Yeah, that was me,” said the guy facing Eric. “Sorry, brah, stupid thing to do, I know.”

The others turned to him. The fifth, whose face Eric could half-see, seemed surprised, maybe even shocked, and Eric assumed the other three were, too. “Johnson, why...”

“Somebody had to,” Johnson said, shrugging. “I mean, narratively, without him we’d have no POV or plot or anything? And I’m really useful for that kind of thing, because, y’know, I could do whatever I wanted and cite ‘narrative reasons’ and the suspension of disbelief would remain fully intact. Because I’m just like that. I’m the fourth wall guy. It’s not weird for me to enable the plot just for the sake of it. In fact, it’s kind of funny. At least, it’s supposed to be.”

“I, euh, okay,” said the fifth guy, sounding about as discombobulated as Eric felt.

“Also, he’s been awake for a while,” Johnson added.

Four heads whipped around to look at him at once. Eric flinched back, but. He hadn’t gotten the least hint of untoward intentions from them yet, so. _Just a pack of very charitable young werewolves,_ he told himself. _Very charitable werewolves who are also very stupid because they tried to turn a vampire. No big deal._ “Um... hey, y’all.”

“Oh, snap, he is,” said the moustache one. “And he’s, like, texan. That’s fucking sweet.”

“Excuse _you_ , I’m from Georgia,” Eric couldn’t stop himself from saying. Then he immediately bit his lip because this was probably, definitely not the time to be back-talking. What if he pushed them over the edge? What if they decided not to be so charitable after all?

But Moustache grinned. “Sorry ‘bout that, brah,” he said, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Shitty. In more ways than one.”

“I — I’m sorry?”

“Obligatory Shitty’s name joke: check,” said Johnson. “Yeah, man, no, his name’s Shitty. Yeah, for real. And these guys are Ransom and Holster, and the quiet one is Jack — just speeding things up on the name front, don’t mind me.”

“How long have you been awake?” asked the dark-skinned one — was he Holster? Or was he Ransom?

“A couple of minutes?” Eric answered hesitantly. He took the cup of water — more of a bowl, to be honest — that Holster-or-Ransom offered him, but didn’t drink. For the sake of staying calm, he ignored the little voice in his head screaming about how he should absolutely be running for his life right now and instead just — watched.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jack asked Johnson, frowning.

“He needed to hear what we were talking about, bro. Give a little context. Establish some character. You know what I’m saying?”

“Johnson, we _never_ know what you’re saying,” said the blond — Ransom or Holster?

“Shitty,” Jack interrupted, his tone clipped.

Shitty, somehow, seemed to know exactly what he wanted. Without a question, Shitty swept up and began to herd the others outside. “C’mon, brahs, we’ve gotta moon to prepare for and it’s gonna be fucking sick, can you guys say—”

Eric could hear Johnson saying something like, “Your reasoning is artificial, but it’s okay, I get it, gotta move things along,” as everyone cleared out of the tent. Only Jack and Eric were left, alone but for Shitty’s back lingering at the tent’s flap.

Jack turned to Eric fully then, his droopy blue eyes arranged in a glare. Eric’s fingers tightened on the bowl that either Holster or Ransom gave him. Jack was built the same way the well outside was; out of chiseled stone like some kind of combination Greek statue and wrecking ball.

And then Jack stalked forward, and before Eric knew what was happening he was yelping and the bowl was clattering to the floor — but Eric had no mind to pay attention to that, because _Jack’s face was buried in his neck and what was going on?_

Eric was frozen. One of Jack’s hands held his head in place, and the man’s nose was in the hollow of his throat. He wasn’t doing anything but breathing. _Mating ritual_ , the vampire half of him supplied. The other half of him — which it seemed was now, god forbid, his werewolf half — had different, but less distinct ideas on the matter. It didn’t really help.

“Jack. Jack, get off him.”

And Jack did. Eric looked over to find Shitty watching them, unimpressed.

“Not cool, brah. Little dude has like, no info on anything, and you just shove your face into him? I know you can be oblivious but you can’t do that to people.”

“I — oh,” Jack said, sounding contrite but a bit frustrated. “But—”

“No buts, only butts,” Shitty said. “And you back yours the fuck up and apologise.”

Jack straightened up fully, giving Eric an intense stare. “Sorry,” he said finally, “but we don’t have time to coddle you.”

_What the fuck_ , Eric thought, squinting at Jack.

“Also, you should eat more meat,” Jack added. “Get some protein.”

_What the double fuck._ Eric blinked up at Jack, uncomprehending.

“You know. Instead of blood.”

_Who is this man, and does he_ ever _use inflection when he speaks?_

“Christ, Jacky, are you for serious right now?” asked Shitty.

“Euh, yes?” Jack said as he gave Shitty a side-eyed glance. He gives Eric one more look before leaning towards Shitty and saying, in a lowered voice, “Look, we really _can’t_ afford to coddle him, we don’t need anybody holding us back right now. Not when we’re so close to—”

“I know, I know,” Shitty interrupted in the same faux-whisper, his tone long-suffering. Eric wondered how private they thought their conversation was, considering they were holding it only a few feet away from him. “Just— just go out there, okay, let me talk to him.”

Jack nodded, and just like that, he was gone.

Shitty flopped down on the ground, outside of arm’s reach, and grinned at Eric. “So. Didn’t get your name.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the cot. “It’s Eric. And what was that about?”

“The neck thing?”

“That — that guy in general.”

Shitty sighed at that. “Explain Jack Zimmermann? Nah, my friend, that’s an impossible task if I’ve ever heard one. The neck thing, _that’s_ fully explainable—”

“Really.”

“Yeah. He’s gotta know what you smell like, doesn’t he?” At Eric’s blank look, Shitty added, “Uh, it’s a pack thing. So he can find you by scent. We’ll all need to know it, and you’ll need to know all of ours — ‘cause we got your back, bro!”

“Are y’all telling me I’m gonna have to put my face to _his_ neck?” Eric asked, scandalized. Eric was _not_ about to perform what was, to him, a mating ritual on such a gorgeous _absolute jerk_ , especially after that disastrous first meeting — if you could even call it a meeting.

“Doesn’t really have to be the neck...” Shitty said pensively, scratching his moustache. Eric almost screamed. “But uh — good news, bro! You do not have to sniff Jack. He’s the Alpha, so you’ll just, like, instinctively know his scent. His and Johnson’s, ‘cause he’s your sire.”

“ _He’s_ the Alpha here?!” 

“You sound surprised.”

“Surprised,” Eric drawled. “Surprised, sure. Baffled, more like. I thought Alphas were supposed to _care_ about their packs.”

Shitty winced, glancing away. A sad look appeared on his face. “He does care. He’s just, he’s awkward. You’ll see.”

“Awkward is not the word I would use,” Eric huffed.

“ _Really_ awkward,” Shitty offered. He looked to the flap of the tent, then back. “I’m sorry, brah, but it’s gonna be moonrise soon, and I’ll be, like, less than no help to you then. But don’t worry your sweet, blood-sucking little head, ‘cause nobody actually turns on their first moon, so you can just chill here.”

Shitty stood and started to leave, but then he turned back with a quick, “And one more thing.”

Then he pulled Eric into a loose hug and started rubbing his face into his hair. Eric heard an overly loud snuffling sound, and couldn’t help letting out a startled laugh.

“There we go!” Shitty exclaimed, releasing him. “Got your scent now. Couldn’t not have that. Also, man, you smell like cupcakes. Props, brah.”

“I... Should I be sniffing you back?” Eric asked hesitantly.

Shitty laughed. “Maybe later. I am like, _encrusted_ with weed and catnip right now.”

“Oh,” Eric said, because what else could you say to a statement like that?

“Smell ya later,” Shitty said, then disappeared out of the tent.

Eric moved to lie back in the cot and strongly considered just booking it. What was there for him here? A hostile Alpha, a wolf who bit him for ‘narrative reasons,’ and a pack of creatures that, logically, he should have nothing to do with. But, at the same time, he knew he was going to need them.

There might be no one else in the world who could help him anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> In the next chapter: We learn a bit more about why werewolves and vampires aren't meant to cross the streams. We should have Lardo within a few chapters too!
> 
> Additionally: I'm also working on a patater fic and a jack/bitty/tater oneshot so watch out for those. But this is my first published Check Please fic! I'm excited. Are you excited? Please be excited. I crave validation.


End file.
